Janine Lehane
February 2017

As Rachmaninov's second piano
concerto flows from the blue radio,
I try to resist its depth, momentum,
force myself to listen to the end, recall
your prodigious offence. How could you play
so small? For years, I have haunted the show
hall. When love's season comes around, I want
to grace the venue, to strew roses for me
on the lighted stage. Though you do not see
the need for compassion, I will scale
the heights of sympathy and forgive you.

—from a series of Monthly Notes that explores music, curated by Jared Pearce

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